


Sherlock Holmes - The Case of the Blackmailer

by evilleaper



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:38:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilleaper/pseuds/evilleaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my take on the Case of Charles Augustus Milverton AKA "The Master Blackmailer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The weather on Baker Street was fit for neither man nor beast, I noted with somewhat more than a passing interest and I was heartily grateful for the fire that warmed the small sitting room I shared with the worlds only consulting detective. For without it, the air between us would have surely been intolerably cold. 

Still, I shivered as I turned to the next page of the Times in what was becoming a vain attempt to submerge myself in the news of the day while Holmes stood at the window behind me, silently pondering the downpour and our latest case, no doubt. I gave little hope that in fact his great mind could spare a moment for anything else, least of all the harsh words we had exchanged, not a half-hour ago.

Certainly we had quarrelled in the past. It was not an unheard-of occurrence. Usually it was over some trifling matter that was soon forgotten. But this new menace that threatened us both I suspected would leave a mark on our relationship that would not be so easy to put aside. 

A blackmailer was at work. An individual, the likes of very few others we have had the misfortune to encounter in our work thus far. Holmes had been repulsed upon learning the details of man's misdeeds and though it was not usual for my friend to be so vocal in his abhorrence of another, as I slowly became aware of the lives that now lay in ruin because of the scoundrel, I soon understood why. 

Charles Augustus Milverton preyed upon those whose only crimes, with perhaps the exception of the late Colonel Dorking, had been that of poor judgement when it came to matters of the heart, and trusting those closest to them. 

Truly it was a warning to all. Trust; after all was the foundation of any relationship, whether it was between husband and wife or master and servant. And how any of us could ever hope to rest with the knowledge that men, the likes of Milverton existed was beyond me. 

It seems difficult to comprehend now but it had only been a few short weeks ago that Lady Eva Blackwell had engaged Holmes' services and he had in turn challenged Milverton in these very rooms. Not something that either man was unfamiliar with, I surmised at the time, but there was an element of acquired grandeur about Milverton where clearly he believed himself to be not only above the law, but completely unstoppable in his trade that has bothered me incessantly about him ever since. 

For as soon as I had met Milverton for myself I was convinced that he was a decidedly callous fellow despite his pretence of simply being that of a businessman. Meeting him face to face was just as Holmes had described, and I had felt as if indeed I was confronting a serpent. A creature capable of draining the life out of all that he encountered. 

In fact after witnessing the interchange between Holmes and the man who would surely stop at nothing to achieve his despicable ends, I had begged my friend to take great care in his dealings with him. I had seen the disdain both men had showed the other, and my fear that Holmes' position and reputation would be the next on Milvertons' long list of London's gentry to be scandalised was all I could think of. 

More than once during the years of our association I had known Holmes to become the target of one of our fair city's criminal types, but never had I felt so utterly certain that if Milverton put his mind to it he would find a way to destroy him.

I had prayed when Holmes had then decided to infiltrate the Milverton household so he might gain access to the letters that we knew must be hidden there, that he would heed my warnings, but it was not to be. Holmes, though he is a man of great intellect and impeccable manner refused to listen, to consider that a fate such as what had befallen Milvertons previous victims could so influence his life. 

It could not go on. I could not bear to watch him day after day don his disguise of a common tradesman and then go forth, as it were, into the serpent's den when there was so much at stake. 

Upon his return tonight I decided I would broach the subject again and once more take the opportunity to voice my concerns for his safety. I waited until Mrs. Hudson had served and cleared away our supper before I spoke, but despite my good intentions Holmes could only see my concerns as baseless interference. 

"Surely you can't think the likes of Milverton should be allowed to prevail?" he had inquired.

What could I say? That I condoned the undertakings and betrayals, which had seen Milverton prosper so far? 

"Certainly not," I had managed to return, already wounded by his accusing tone of voice, though I daren't have Holmes see that I was. I had only I wished to make myself clear and to request that if he insisted on continuing with this masquerade that he would err on the side of caution in his dealings with the man. 

"What then, Watson? Do you think me incapable of keeping my feelings of disdain at bay? That I would risk more than necessary to bring this demon to justice?"

"Perhaps." I had answered, wary of his reaction but all the time knowing that in the past he had risked a great deal in the name of justice.

For a moment nothing was said, and as I watched Holmes pause briefly to light a cigarette, I had thought that given the long standing of our friendship I was finally seeing a glimmer of hope at the end of my dark tunnel of despair - that his hesitation meant he was actually considering the merit of my words. 

"I see," he eventually replied, absently tossing the match he had used to light his cigarette into the fireplace. "You do not trust my judgement in this, Watson. But come now, you obviously have your reasons for why that is - pray share them with me." 

As with the other times we had disagreed his words were sharp, though I could not say that they were unkind on this occasion, and even as he invited my explanation I had clung to my foolish hope, wanting to believe that with the right amount of clarification, he would then listen to me. See, as I did, that dealing with Milverton and his unsavoury staff had us engaging the lowest of all types. Those, who would twist and connive for profit, and never mind the damage they wrought. 

Still it was not often that I challenged Holmes and as he stood quietly smoking his cigarette, waiting to hear what I had to say and regarding me in a way that slowly abraded my confidence; I wondered just how I might achieve my goal without further incurring his ire. 

Holmes had asked me to explain myself; asked me to share with him why after our many years of association, I now felt his impeccable judgement was flawed. It was an honour very few others would ever experience, I realised. Though knowing even that, did not change the fact that I was certain that no matter how carefully I phrased my next comment he would misunderstand it. 

There was no other way then to simply say it, I had decided in the end. Sooner or later Holmes would tire of waiting, and when he did, his belief that my concerns were indeed baseless would only be reinforced. 

"This house-maid," I began slowly, testing the waters as it were. But he only continued to stare at me in a most sceptical fashion, waiting for me to continue. "You said you had a hated rival, but is there a reason why a wedding might be necessary?"

My dear friends face contorted into a sneer with my words, just as I feared he would. The inference behind my inquiry not lost on him for a moment. "So that's it," he announced triumphantly. "Your so-called concern for my safety and reputation is merely that you fear for your place in my heart."

Sometimes I wondered if Holmes knew as much about human behaviour as he professed. It was utterly absurd, completely preposterous that I could be jealous, as he obviously thought I was of a housemaid no less, or any other woman for that matter.

"Ridiculous," I retorted without thought. But much to my shame I had not stopped there. So infuriated by his accusation that my concerns for his safety were born of my own insecurities, I had not paused even a moment to consider the consequences of giving free reign to the emotions welling inside of me. "Surely my good fellow, you would first have to have a heart, for me to lose my place in it," I had gone on to say, subsequently silencing Holmes and leaving myself struggling to understand why I had spoken as I had. 

It was perhaps the coldest, cruelest thing I have ever said to another human being, totally unwarranted under any circumstances. Where it had come from and what had possessed me to say such a thing I could not rightly attest to. But I had felt myself dying a little inside as our cosy sitting room had become suddenly chilled and my dearest friend then turned from me, and without another word, taken up his current place at the window.

For my part, so shocked by the incident and fearing that my usually sturdy legs would simply give way under the strain of supporting me, I had sought refuge in my favourite chair, and the companionship of the evening paper. Neither have provided me with any comfort however, and as the silence enveloping Holmes and I has grown, so has my regret. But for reasons I still can not name I have not been able to bring myself to apologise to him for what I had said. This was not the first time he had involved me in one of his cases and then scoffed at my opinions. Nor would it be the last, I thought wistfully.

I sighed heavily, forsaking my farce at last as I closed, and then folded the paper on my lap. Gestures it seemed, that were heard over the sounds of steady rain at our window, and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. For no sooner had I laid my paper down, Holmes was standing at my shoulder, staring down at me with a most curious look upon his handsome face. 

"Are you recovered my friend?" He inquired, adding when his question was asked, one of his ephemeral smiles before he forged on. "Because if you are, Watson, I have need of your assistance."

It was just as I had thought I mused sadly. All the time I had been sitting here contemplating his lack of feeling, Holmes' mind has been working on the case, completely unaffected by the unpleasantness between us. I felt myself bristle momentarily and then sighed again. If all my years of sharing rooms with the great Sherlock Holmes had taught me anything at all, it would be that it was completely useless to attempt to harbour ill-feelings toward him. No matter how wounded my pride might become during one of our disagreements, Holmes would simply brush over it in preference to whatever problem held his attention. 

Just why I had acted, as I had tonight needed to be left to another time to contemplate, I decided. If Holmes needed me then as his friend I could not refuse him my help. Heaven only knows, there is little else I can provide of myself, that he would accept. 

It was settled, and putting aside my hurt along with the paper I stood, confronting my friend on equal footing so to speak before I answered him. "I am quite well," I assured him whilst I straightened my jacket; preparing myself both physically and mentally for whatever task I would be assigned.

Quite un-expectantly, given the circumstances, Holmes's face literally beamed with my response. "Capital," he remarked, reaching toward me to grip my shoulder briefly, adding a small squeeze before he once more withdrew his hand. It was a familiar gesture of his, and one I have come to understand that signalled forgiveness on his part. Still it often struck me as odd, as it did now, that a man as seemingly un-feeling as Holmes, could also be so affectionate. 

"Now," I said, clearing my mind of all other thoughts, including why his touch filled me with such a feeling of warmth, so that I might focus on the matter at hand. "How can I assist you, Holmes?" 

His face brightened again and without comment Holmes then returned to his place at the window. "What do you think of the weather, Watson?" he inquired, some what off-handed I thought, as I observed him staring down at the street below.

It was a curious inquiry considering the fact that he had spent the last half hour keeping a steady vigil over Baker Street and his recent request for my help; in a matter of some importance, I had believed. 

I shook my head, slightly confounded, and then crossed to join Holmes at the window. Surely my opinion on the weather was not all he required of me, I mused as I drew back one of the heavy curtains to see if perhaps there was something I was missing. However, there was nothing out of the norm occurring on the street below us from what I could tell through the driving rain. No doubt, the inclement nature of the evening had driven most indoors. And as I stood, still trying to comprehend the relevance Holmes's odd question, I spared a thought for the many of London's unfortunates who would most certainly pass this dreadful night without any of the comforts he and I enjoyed. 

"I think it's hideous," I informed Holmes as a sudden gust of wind shook the window pane in such a threatening manner that I was forced to relinquish my hold on the curtain and step back, only to find one of his hands on the small of my back, guiding me to safety and out of harms way.

"Agreed, Watson," Holmes concurred as he released me. "But it seems Mother Nature has decided to provide me with an unexpected opportunity. One I do not intend to forsake." 

So saying, and before I could ask my friend what exactly he was talking about, Holmes turned on his heels and then just as quickly disappeared into his bedroom.

A commotion could be heard coming from within thereafter and I was of a mind to go and see if he was all right when he reappeared again, carrying with him a number of items which I had seen him utilise in the past. 

Moving without invitation to the table where Mrs Hudson had earlier served us our supper I took it upon myself to investigate the items Holmes had arranged there. 

"What is the meaning of all this?" I ventured, picking the glasscutter up in one hand and an odd assortment of keys in the other. 

"Isn't it obvious, Watson?" he returned with another of his quick smiles and then added. "You may think that I spent all my time at Appledore Towers consorting with the sweet, and most accommodating Aggie, but I tell you, though it was far from an unpleasant experience, there had been a purpose to my deception."

I bristled again at Holmes' mention of the housemaid, whom through the course of his _deception_ , he had become engaged to. Not that I thought he ever had any intention of settling with the predicament he had found himself in, but it still bothered me that he had found it necessary to _consort_ as he had put it, with someone who worked for the likes of Milverton. I would not however, allow Holmes to see that it did.

Openly ignoring his last comment I replaced the keys and glasscutter; having already ascertained their use and at least one reason why he might have found his relationship with Milvertons housemaid to be advantageous, I only needed Holmes to now verify my suspicions. 

"I would think that given the items you have here that you intend to gain entry where you have no rightful business," I told him.

"Ha, as always I applaud your deductions, Watson." He informed me, though it was clear that once again he had noted the accusation within my words as he continued. "But as I believe _rightful business_ to be such a subjective term I cannot say that you are entirely correct." 

"How so?" I inquired, curious to hear how Holmes would explain himself.

First laying open the old carpet-bag he had produced along with his tools and which I believed he would use to transport them in, my friend then turned his attention to me. "As you are aware, Watson, Lady Eva's marriage is now only two days forth and because time is an issue that cannot be ignored, I can spare no more waiting - tonight's downpour maybe our last opportunity to foil Milvertons plot to ruin her wedding day."

"So I was right, Holmes, you do plan to burgle Appledore Towers!" 

Holmes merely nodded; apparently pleased that I had accurately deduced his plan but seemingly unconcerned in regard to any reaction I might have to it as he once more returned to his preparations. "You are especially astute tonight, Watson," he commented. 

Though I had guessed as much, I was still astounded to hear Holmes admit the truth. "You can't be serious?" I protested.

"Oh but I am, Watson, now would you please be so kind as to fetch your revolver."

"My revolver," I repeated like a fool. My mind reeling as images of Milvertons henchmen cornering him made it difficult to think of anything else.

"Yes, I think it would be best if we went armed. And perhaps you could also furnish us both with masks."

For a moment I could not answer him. My fear for his safety and reputation once again became all I could think of, only my concern turned quickly to anger. 

"You go too far, Holmes." I finally managed, literally fuming now. "Have you given no thought to what would happen if you are caught? The damage to your reputation would be completely irreparable. Good God man…"I ran out of words at that point, and unable to go on, I turned away, hoping to gather myself though if the truth was to be told, it was more that I could not bear to look at him or have him look at me. It was all too much. 

I felt myself begin to shake. My efforts to calm myself were to no avail and it was not long before I found myself wandering without aim or purpose towards the mantle where Holmes had stood only a few minutes earlier. The fire crackled and the wind at our window continued to howl as I stood staring into the heath. How, I wondered, could he be considered one of Britain's greatest minds when he never gave any thought to his own safety? Or naught to the affect his actions had on those around him. I was forced to close my eyes on that thought as unbidden, visions of Holmes and Milvertons housemaid sprang to mind. When the occasion called for it Holmes was a man of considerable charm and I could well imagine the measure he had most recently enlisted to aid him. 

It was all very unsettling and it seemed like an age before I was able to calm myself sufficiently to face Holmes. His earlier remark concerning my fear of loosing my place in his heart now felt closer to the truth than I would have ever thought possible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See summary and notes in chapter one.

Despite Holmes’ previous need for haste, it appeared that his desire to make amends between us was now of equal importance. For no sooner had I turned and once again met his questioning gaze he was offering restitution, an apology of sorts. 

“You must forgive me, Watson,” he began immediately. “I should have remembered your aversion of law breaking. I will of course, go alone. Please forget I said anything on the matter.” Holmes’ voice was pitched lower than before and quiet unexpectedly gave the impression of genuine remorse; gone was his earlier bravado, and now for reasons that were far beyond my comprehension he stood, his hat in his hands so to speak, awaiting my forgiveness. 

In all the years I have lodged with and accompanied Holmes during his many cases he had not once taken the time, or seen fit to apologise for any of the cutting remarks he has made to me, or anyone else who had crossed his path. It struck me as out of character, but did I imagine take a great deal of effort for a man such as he, so unpractised in the fine art of diplomacy to make an attempt in the first place that I could only accept what he had to say. 

"My dear fellow,” I assured him. "We have been friends for many years, too many for either of us to start harbouring ill-feelings towards the other. If it is your wish however, that I forgive you, then please know that you have what you seek." 

I did not say that I thought it highly unnecessary or that I felt it very strange that he chose temporary memory loss as an explanation for his uncharacteristic behaviour.

Whatever his intention Holmes smiled as I delivered my acceptance. Clearly pleased with himself and the effort he had made, he stood gazing at me long after I had finished, almost I thought, as if he expected me to continue. There was little more I could say though and as the moments became minutes I found myself becoming increasingly unnerved by the manner in which he was regarding me.

Perhaps it was my imagination or the closeness of Holmes to my person, but the room seemed to be uncomfortably warm all of a sudden, making it hard to breathe, to remember what I was praising him for. I raised a hand to my collar; meaning to loosen it but it had very little effect. My world appeared to be closing in around me, narrowing until it consisted of no more than the twinkle in his eyes and the smile that played on his lips. Lips, I realised, that parted invitingly as I watched, beckoning me closer.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard the wind howling again, screeching as if a banshee had been set loose in Baker Street and shaking the windows in their frames. Still it was the lips that held my attention - Holmes' lips which were now moving mere inches from my own, only I could not make out what if anything he was saying above what I realised, almost too late, were the forces of nature warring with one another. 

"You are too good to me, Watson. I dare say no man has ever had a truer friend than you."

I shook my head and drew back from Holmes as his words finally broke through the strange trick my senses seemed to be playing on me. I could not explain what had just happened, or even what it was exactly that I had been thinking moments ago when I had gazed into his eyes. But with my heart now pounding wildly in my chest I turned away yet again, this time making a somewhat theatrical show of busying myself. 

"And as your friend,” I announced as I searched the pockets of my jacket for some imaginary object so that Holmes could not see my face, or the colour that I suspected was now draining from it. “I will not hear of you going out alone or without the added protection of my revolver."

I left Holmes forthwith. Not daring to look back, I prayed his self-absorbed nature had once again re-exerted itself and precluded any signs of my distress from his notice. I do not know what I would have done if he had called me back. I could scarcely understand the renewed turmoil growing within me, let alone explain it to anyone else, least of all the man responsible for it. 

Going to my room on the pretence of preparing for our evening’s escapades I closed the door firmly behind me and sank down on my bed. Lowering my head to my hands I attempted to breathe deeply, and to calm myself in the same manner I had taught agitated patients over the years of my practice. Though as I had always been a far better doctor than I have a patient the tasks seemed quite impossible for sometime as I also tried to comprehend why after years of camaraderie and mutual respect, the likes of which I knew could never be duplicated. Holmes had suddenly awoken something so completely perverse within me that I dare not even name it for fear it would take hold of me and grow beyond my control. 

Despite my internal protests I knew what _it_ was. Like most men I have experienced longing before. But never in all my years as a bachelor have I felt even an inkling of those longings directed towards another of my own sex. Not _just_ one of my own sex, I reminded myself, if that single thought wasn't damning enough on its own, but toward my dearest friend, a man who has in many ways been my salvation against the tedium of life since my return from abroad and the ghosts that had followed me home.

There had to be an explanation beyond the sudden onset of lunacy, and yet with all my knowledge I could not think of a single one. Holmes had accused me of jealousy but even if that were true and I unconsciously feared a change in our relationship should either of us decide to marry, it did not explain why I had felt myself drawn to him the way I had earlier. Did I think I could offer myself in place of some woman? That having done so Holmes would accept me as more than friend or companion? Apart from the sheer preposterousness of either circumstance I knew it was unnatural, not to mention, against every fibre of my being. 

I shuddered as against my will, my mind filled with all I knew of those men who sought out the company of other men for intimate purposes. The law and the church branded them an abomination, a scourge against nature and common decency, whose behaviours were punishable by many years imprisonment. And although I could not say I felt the crime anywhere fit the sentence so regularly imposed on men who could be no way compared to those who took a life, or forced others into acts contrary to their wishes I could not imagine myself one of them, not even for a moment. I had though, much to my shame I knew that when I had gazed upon my friend in a manner that could be no way associated with friendship and decency it had been for far longer than a moment. 

Alone in my room I raised my head and sat up. I would never compare my powers of deduction to those of my friend Sherlock Holmes but I was not so limited in intellect that I could not, given the right amount of time and information deduce the why and wherefore of certain human behaviours. 

It was this case of course. 

I immediately felt an enormous weight shift from shoulders as I realised what was so glaringly obvious I was quite literally amazed it had not occurred to me earlier. I was not going mad, nor had I suddenly developed an unnatural attraction to my dearest friend, I had simply succumb, albeit briefly, to the pressures of our current investigation. 

Our unsavoury contact with Milverton and his vile cohorts was the reason why both Holmes and I were behaving in ways alien to our usual nature. Once the case was ended, and my friend brought the blackguard to justice there would be no more of this bizarre mis-communication between us. There would be no more talk of hearts, and unnatural love. I would write my account and we would return to our lives and the cases that would ultimately follow in due course. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was not sure how much time had pasted since I had left Holmes for the safety of my room but I could now hear his raised voice emanating from the floor beneath my feet. His words were understandably muffled but his tone indicated the hour had grown late indeed. 

Quickly donning my evening clothes I then searched my dresser for silk handkerchiefs and carefully fashioned masks for both Holmes and myself as per his request. Placing them in my coat pocket for easy retrieval I then checked my appearance in the looking glass. For all intense purposes, I appeared the epitome of the well-dressed gentleman, handsome some might say; though, to be honest it had been quite sometime since anyone had. All was ready I decided; all expect my moustache, which after closer inspection was in need of a little trimming. 

My usual habit was to have my moustache trimmed by my barber, although I was perfectly capable of doing so myself. But as there was no time for my customary luxuries, tonight would have to be one such occasion when I took care of my own needs. Taking my scissors from my side table I placed one finger over my upper lip and carefully removed the excess hair. Exposed to the elements for the first time in some weeks my upper lip tingled as I drew my hand away. It was a sensation not unlike the one usually associated with having ones nails cut, when the freshly bared area was highly sensitive to the touch. Certainly not a note worthy occurrence, but not at all an unpleasant one either I realised, as I touched my finger to my lips once more.

I was not a man opposed to self-stimulation, like most men I understood it and indulged when necessary. It struck me as odd however, that prior to tonight I had never truly appreciated the sight before me. Not the image of myself, which I was far too familiar with, but the one of a masculine sensuality that for reasons I feared more than another confrontation with Charles Augustus Milverton, I could not draw my eyes from. 

I know that if I were asked, I would be at a loss to explain what I did next. What, after all my reasoning, my mind and body now deemed natural and right. 

As if guided by some unknown force I dropped my hand away and leaned closer to the mirror. Holmes' image, or to be more precise, Holmes' lips had manifested in place of my own, yet it made no difference; in fact it was I believe, what drew me in, mesmerizing me into doing the unthinkable. 

The glass was cold and my fantasy lasted but an instant before it shattered. Even so, I rested against the mirrors solid veneer for some time before I pulled back. My mind swarmed with questions, condemnations of a magnitude so serious I felt faint at the mere thought of what I had done, what I knew I was becoming, and could no longer explain away. 

Too ashamed to meet the accusing gaze of my own reflection I turned where I stood and took the necessary steps to reach my bed. Once again fearing the stability of my legs I planned to sit and gather myself but as I finally lifted my head I noted the door to my room was open, with Holmes' formidable presence standing at the threshold - his steel grey eyes watching me intently. 

To say I was surprised to see him would have been a gross understatement and with a volition of its own, my heart rose to my throat. Holmes' appeared paler than usual; his expression completely unreadable, though there was no doubt in my mind that he had witnessed my foolishness. 

I suspected I looked in no better shape but before I could even think of providing an excuse for my behaviour he had withdrawn again, closing the door as silently as he had opened it. For a moment or two I simply stared at the closed door of my room. I knew not what to do, what to think, only that I must go to him, must try and explain, though God only knew how I thought I might accomplish such a thing when I did not know where to start. 

Taking my revolver from my nightstand I tucked it beneath my jacket and hurried downstairs to the sitting room. 

Much to my relief Holmes was standing at the window when I arrived. I had half expected to find the room empty and although his ridged stance did not fill me with confidence the fact that he was still here, clearly waiting for me meant he was not so ready to be away from me as I had feared. 

I still had no idea what I was going to say but whatever else I might be, I was a gentleman above all else and I would not I decided, address his back over so momentous a matter.

"Holmes?" I called. 

My voice barely registered above the pounding of my heart and the storm still raging outside but the slight flinching of my friend's shoulders assured me that I had been heard. Nevertheless it seemed an eternity before he turned to face me. Of course, by that time the mask of indifference that Holmes usually wore had once again fallen into place and there were no signs of the bewildered man I had seen only minutes ago in my room. 

"Ah, there you are, Watson," he announced in a manner that gave no clue to the tension radiating between us. "I trust you have what I asked for?" 

The room felt uncomfortably warm again; compounded more so by the fire Holmes' had obviously stoked before I arrived, and the intensity of his gaze and in all honestly it took me several moments to realise that it was the masks he was referring to. 

"Yes," I rasped, patting my jacket pocket to indicate their whereabouts. 

It seemed a lifetime ago that we had discussed the case and knowing Holmes as I did, I knew it would be only that he was interested in now. A fact that should provide me with a certain amount of relief, though in truth, I also knew that there was no delaying the inevitable. I needed to clear the air between us as soon as possible if our friendship were to continue. 

"I should like to explain," I began awkwardly. 

"And you shall," he returned, striding toward me. "But for now our attention is required elsewhere and so whatever you wish to impart to me will have to wait."

There was no pretence. We were both fully aware of the matter at hand. Before this night was over Holmes would have his explanation and I would be the one to provide it. I nodded my agreement. 

The carpetbag sat on the table and as Holmes sweep past me I picked it up and followed him out. 

Despite the weather a cab was easily acquired and in no time at all we were on our way to Hempstead. Holmes and I sat side by side for the journey although we might have travelled by separate means for there was very little conversation to speak of. Holmes' explained his plan in the simplest terms and I listened for my part in it. 

All in all it was perhaps the most uncomfortable expedition of my life.


	3. Chapter 3

Upon reaching Appledore Towers Holmes's and I donned our masks and scaled the wall to Milverton's fortress. I had all along suspected that a man with as many enemies as our master blackmailer would take great care when choosing his home and staff. But very little could prepare me for the sheer size of the property or the unshakeable sense of foreboding that dogged our every step. We had visited the location before of course, but there was no comparing a daytime visit with one made under our unique circumstances.

Holmes had also told me of his most recent encounters with Vike, Milverton’s butler, a man who had previously been known to us under another name due his unsavory association and willingness to take extraordinary measures to ensure his continued employment. As Holmes and I made our way through the grounds, it was Vike I expected to see at every turn. My only consolation was that when we left the cab Holmes had once again taken possession of his carpet-bag and I was most appreciative that he had, for it enabled me to keep one hand on my revolver throughout. 

Once inside the main house I kept a lookout for Vike and any other members of Milverton’s staff who might be about at this hour while Holmes dealt with the safe. It proved resistant to my friends skills however and entry took a good deal longer than either I, or he it seemed, had anticipated. 

A fire had been left burning in the study and although we dared risk only one lamp to aid us, there was sufficient light for me to see Holmes’s frustration clearly written in his distinct features as he applied himself to the task. Nevertheless, cogs and slides, no matter how ingenious or confounded their configurations are no match to a mind solely dedicated to logic and finally the safe opened. I watched as my friend extracted what appeared to be bundles of correspondence from its depths; my elation quickly turning to abject fear as sounds from the hall altered me to an impending witness to our activities. 

I dared not speak, but rushed towards Holmes to warn him. Together we restored the room to its undisturbed state and then took refuge behind the heavy drapes that were clearly hung to keep prying eyes from the acts perpetrated within. I could not think beyond discovery and fear I trembled as I heard the door to Milverton’s study close and the lock being turned. 

Our hiding place was not large in size. In fact I could only describe the situation Holmes and I had found ourselves in, as severely cramped. Holmes stood at the rear, closest to the closed window and I directly in front of him, my hand resting on my revolver, ready to use it if the need arose. Despite my fear I would not allow harm to come to either my friend or myself. 

Sounds could be heard as Milverton moved around his office and then after some commotion that might have been a window opening and closing again, the distinct voice of the man himself. The conversation that took place forthwith was decidedly one sided and for untold minutes curiosity warred with self-preservation. Judging us safe however, Holmes gently tapped my shoulder, indicating that I should part the curtains so that we could also see what was taking place only a short distance away. Using a level of care that I have perfected over my years as a surgeon I eased a space between the heavy materials concealing our hiding place and peered through.

Holmes leaned closer as we both sought to see just who Milverton was talking to. Indeed, he stood so close to me that I could feel his warm breath lift the small hairs on the back of my neck and the full length of his body press against my own. Coupled with my earlier revelation it made focusing on the matter at hand difficult to say the least, and I know it took me a good deal longer than it should have to recognise the scene I had unveiled. 

A draped, but clearly female figure faced the alcove where Holmes and I hid from view. I could not see her face, nor do I believe she was aware of presence mere feet away, but whoever she was; her clothing suggested she was a woman of station; someone Milverton had wronged no doubt and who had come to confront the fiend face to face. 

The mystery woman remained silent while Milverton continued his barrage of words until clearly it all became too much, and without preamble or warning she drew a pistol from the folds of her clothing. Firing at close range and in quick secession the weapon was soon empty. Milverton staggered and stumbled under the attack until finally he fell, mortally wounded at the woman’s feet. 

I gasped in horror, so quickly had the scene turned murderous that I was at a complete loss at what to do. There was no time to recover though, for no sooner had Milverton crumpled the woman stood over his prone form, sneering down at him as she raised one heeled foot and brought it down on his unseeing face. Of all the atrocities I have seen abroad and since my return nothing compared to the brutality of what Holmes’s and I unwittingly witnessed in the moments that followed. Truly it was a hideous sight. I turned away as best I could in the confined space and to my great relief was met with the solid bulk of Holmes’ shoulder. Instead of shunning me however, I felt my friend guide my head to lean against him. 

The emotions that bombarded me during the time I took full advantage of Holmes’s support were too numerous to describe, suffice to say that if we weren’t in the grips of a case and clearly shaken by what we had seen, I would have had to question what exactly had come over us both. 

It was not to last though. 

The sounds of gun fire had surely alerted the rest of the household to the presence of an intruder and it was not long before there were calls from outside and an insistent pounding on the office door. I pulled from Holmes’ embrace at the first indication that we were about to be discovered, pushing aside all thoughts that I had felt very much at home in his arms and turned just in time to see Milverton’s mysterious visitor exit the same way she must have entered, through the now open French windows. 

Holmes was barely a step behind me as I pushed through the drapes, calling to me in a hushed yet commanding tone to help him. Following his lead I moved carefully around Milverton’s body to the still open safe on the far wall. The voices from outside grew louder and the pounding on the door increased to what I thought must be breaking point as Holmes and I then proceeded to empty it of its incriminating content. Tossing all that we could lay our hands on into the heath we scarcely finished before the door finally gave way and we too escaped through the French windows.

With Vike on our heels and the sounds of high-pitched screams echoing behind us Holmes and I scaled the wall we had previously climbed to gain access, and together we vanished into the night. 

\----*----

To say that Holmes’s and I returned to the safety of Baker Street unscathed by our experience would be somewhat inaccurate, and with that in mind and the hour growing late, I will leave the actual details of our journey from Hempstead to our lodging for another time. My primary interest upon our arrival was if in fact either of us was going to be any worse for our ordeal than we already were. I had my concerns, especially for Holmes and I was determined to see them abated before I dealt with anything else. 

The lower levels of the house were in darkness, indicating that Mrs. Hudson had retired for the night and that we would have to fend for ourselves until morning. As I had always believed I was more than capable of taking care of Holmes and myself it was a situation I found fitting under the circumstances. 

Divesting myself of my coat I then turned to Holmes to help him with his. He had been quiet during the trip home, preoccupied by some detail of the case that he had yet to share with me I assumed, but rallied to assist me peel the damp garment from his shoulders and down his long arms. 

Shivering from shock or the cold that I knew was now settling into his bones I watched as those same long arms were wrapped around my friend’s tall frame in a clear effort to stop the unnatural shaking of his body. 

“I’m going to run us both a hot bath,” I informed him. “And I don’t want any arguments from you, Holmes.”

To his credit Holmes sniffed his indignation but did not offer any of his usual retorts to what might be seen as my unnecessary fussing over his somewhat tenuous health. Remaining silent and uncharacteristically compliant he merely turned and started the climb to our shared rooms. I shook my head as I watched him disappear up the stairs and after depositing his coat along side mine on the coat rack and I followed suit. 

Our once cozy sitting room had grown cold in our absence and I set Holmes the task of rectifying the matter while I saw to our bath. He had made little attempt when I returned to him however, and I took it upon myself to see to the heath while he bathed and before long we were both clad in dressing-gowns, enjoying a larger than usual glass of Brandy along the fruits of my labours in front of the fire-place.

Although he had been open to my direction Holmes had said no more than a few words to me since our return, and as time passed I started to wonder to the exact nature of his continuing preoccupation. 

“There will be an investigation,” I began. Stating the obvious perhaps, but I knew that no matter what else Holmes might have on his mind the case still played a part in what held his attention now. 

“Most assuredly,” he replied calmly. Too calmly I thought for a man who had witnessed what we had and who may, come morning, find himself implicated in the crime itself. The prospect of such an occurrence chilled me to the bone and I took another sip of my brandy to warm myself before pressing him a little further. 

“Then can I assume Holmes that it doesn’t bother you that Vike will most likely tell the police of your recent visit to Milverton at the first opportunity?”

“Not at all, for he will do nothing of the sort, Watson.” 

“But how can that be? Surely the police will question him?”

“I am sure they will, along with every other member of Milverton’s household.”

I did not understand Holmes’s casual view to something that could easily turn against his favour if Vike had his way -- truly, he was as devious as his now deceased employer and I would wager a large sum he would do everything within his power to get back at the man who had seen to it that he spent years in hard labour during his last incarnation. Apparently Holmes realised my unease along with a great deal of what I had not said aloud and in a moment of unparalleled understanding he reached a hand across the small space between us and clasped my arm. 

“Fear not my friend, we are quite safe. There is nothing Vike and anyone else could say that would cast suspicion on either of us. The police will do what they can, but they will not discover who rid the world of Charles Augustus Milverton. The deed is done and those who might have found themselves ruined by their imprudence can now rest easier because of it.” 

I settled some at Holmes’s words and his second attempt to comfort me in as many hours, but felt another kind of uncertainty grow anew inside of me when he did not withdraw his hand immediately and his steel grey eyes locked with mine in away that suggested a double meaning to the last of his words. If what Holmes’s had seen this afternoon in my room had caused him to suspect me of being anything other than gentleman I have always been my mind refused to process it. All I could think was that I had made him a promise before we had gone out tonight and even though I knew he would not bring the subject up himself, the time to fulfill our agreement seemed very close at hand now.

Swallowing the last of my brandy I sought to steady my nerves and to find whatever courage that could be found in the depth of my glass and the knowledge that one way or another Holmes and I would reach a new understanding tonight. 

“Do you know something about the woman we saw murder Milverton, Holmes? Something you are not telling me?” I was doing my best to keep the conversation on its original course, though it would not have taken a consulting detective to tell my heart was not overly interested in either my question or the answer I had requested. 

“Nothing of consequence,” he announced, gesturing an end to the discussion with a dismissive wave of the same hand he had finally seen fit to remove from my arm. 

The warmth of Holmes’s touch lingered even after he had pulled away and then withdrew entirely from my side to stand as he so often did by the window. I turned my gaze to watch him as he stared down at Baker Street’s nocturnal vista, wondering if perhaps he was anticipating the arrival of a client or the police, but discarded both possibilities as remnants of my own fears. No, I realised, for Holmes the case had been dealt with and now his mind like mine was filled with something else, something that concerned only the two of us.

Despite the night’s ordeal and the shadow of controversy that for me at least still lay over Milverton’s death, I found myself feeling remarkably resolved and suddenly unafraid. 

I did not know what lay ahead of Holmes and I now the time had clearly come for me to share with him the changes that occurred within myself and in regards to my feelings towards him. As a man who has always believed himself true to his word I set my glass aside and stood to join my friend by the window, certain that there was no time like the present to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

Since our return, the storm which had initially provided a cover for our evening’s activities had all but passed. Rain still fell, but only in the light drizzle that was so familiar to the residents of our fair city that it could hardly be considered rain at all. For a time, Holmes and I remained in comfortable silence by the window, each watching the steady fall illuminated against the gas lamp across the street, along with the slow return to activity below our vantage point.

Eventually the day and the evening’s turn of events began to take its toll upon me and I shifted my gaze from the window to the man beside me. Holmes had always possessed a striking profile, tonight however my friend’s worn appearance showed him for the man he was – not the heartless creation I had accused him of being, but a man just like myself, made of flesh and bone, and as deserving of love as any other I had ever met. 

I drew a breath, sobered some by the true depths of my feelings and what I knew I would offer the world’s only consulting detective if only he would accept it from me. 

“Holmes?” I began. 

Although he did not turn from the view I knew instinctively that he had heard me and that I should continue.

“If you are agreeable, there is something about which I think we should speak.”

“A new case, Watson?” 

I shook my head no. “An old one,” I returned. “One that should have been given the attention it deserved long ago.”

With his innate sense of curiosity piqued Sherlock Holmes turned to face me.  
“The details man,” he demanded. “Riddles will not provide answers -- only the facts.”

He was right of course. Nothing could be gained by skirting a subject once it had been raised.

Gathering my courage I opened my mouth to speak, intending as I had all a long to tell him the truth. It was at that moment however, as Holmes and I regarded one another, that I experienced a strange feeling of daja vu. It was similar I realised in many ways to other occasions during our association when I had planed to tell him something, only to discover that he had already guessed my news. I could not for the life of me imagine how he knew what I was about to say, but something in his gaze told me it was true. 

Unsure of what this new piece of information meant or if in fact my suspicions were showing on my face I stepped away, returning once again to the fireplace to the study the flames steadily licking at the grate. If I had been obvious in my attractions towards Holmes then surely he would have made some remark, or alerted me to the dangers of such behaviour in some other way?

I searched my memory but could think of no such time, except…

As if my world was turning on end, my mind suddenly recalled, amongst other things, the disagreement we had earlier today. Holmes had accused me of jealousy and I had denied his accusation fervently, too fervently it seemed. 

Folding my arms protectively across my chest I closed my eyes momentarily and shook my head. I was a fool, a blind fool who after years of cohabitation with Holmes should have known better than to ever think that just because he paid little attention to the softer emotions it did not mean he could not recognise them in others. 

It should not surprise me that Holmes would know before me, it was his business of course to know what others did not, and yet I felt a wave irritation roll over me. 

“How long have you known?” I inquired, at last unfolding my arms and dropping them to my sides. 

During my brief reverie Holmes had gravitated from the window to stand along side me. His close proximity never as confounding as it was at that moment. 

“That your interest in my well-being exceeded the common place,” he returned curiously. “Or that the interest in question had reached a point of unnatural fixation?”

Contrary to what I already knew to be true I found his cold deduction and the recounting of my predicament as if it were no more than a trifle taken from the personal columns more than I could stand. 

“My God man, you might have said something,” I admonished, my irritation quickly turning to anger though I had no real understanding of why. Holmes might very well be the most infuriating man I had ever met, but I had never known him to be intentionally unkind to me, or to anyone else for that matter. 

Thankfully he remained calm in the face of my small outburst. “I had honestly hoped that no course of action would be necessary,” he remarked gently. “However, that seems to be a miscalculation on my part.”

I thought once more of the unfortunate occurrence in my bedroom when Holmes had walked in on me and felt my face heat uncomfortably at the memory. While it was obvious that my discomfort had not escaped my friend’s keen observation he merely nodded on this occasion, silently acknowledging the difficulty of the situation before he then moved to collect our empty brandy glasses.

As soon as Holmes’s back was turned to me I let out a breath and reached out to steady myself against the mantel. Truly I did not know what to make of it all. I had been resigned to tell him how I felt, expecting, I am not entirely sure what to happen, and yet everything about it now seemed ludicrous -- beyond impossible. I shot a glance towards the sitting room door, wondering if perhaps I might make good an escape, but found the option torn from my grasp as he turned to face me once more.

“I think under the circumstances Watson, we might indulge beyond our usual,” he commented, holding aloft our refilled glasses and appearing, at least on the surface to be decidedly more at ease with our current state of affairs than I. 

Not knowing what else to do I took the proffered glass and I sipped hesitantly at its content. Unlike Holmes I was not convinced that more brandy at this point was a good idea. In the matter of minutes I had experienced a full range of conflicting emotions, fear and outrage amongst them and I had no desire to add alcoholic induced confusion to the mix. It was only after I had lowered my glass to once again meet his gaze did it occur to me that perhaps it was Holmes who felt the need for a little extra courage. The thought struck me as out of character, but like many things that had occurred tonight I was given no time to ponder what if anything it meant.

“Now,” he said, indicating toward my previously vacated chair. “You promised me an explanation and I should very much like to hear it.” 

I glanced once more at the door, weighing the odds of Holmes simply allowing me to change my mind without challenge to what has already passed between us, but conceded that I would undoubtedly live to regret the division such a decision would cost our friendship.

Waiting until I had reseated myself Holmes also sat. Turning slightly to face me he gave me one of his rare smiles, assuring me that no matter what I had to say he would listen. 

The realisation filled me with hope and despite the false start we had endured and my new found knowledge that Holmes already knew of my secret, my words came surprisingly easy. I began by telling him of my first impressions upon our introduction by young Stamford many years ago and how what had started out as an arrangement of convenience for both us had evolved into so much more for me. 

I also told him that although I could not give an accurate account of just when my feelings of brotherly affection had surpassed acceptable bounds, I knew I would never impose myself upon him if he opposed the idea of broadening our relationship to a more intimate level. Indeed, if he found either my proposal or presence repugnant to him then I would leave Baker Street this very night if he wished it. 

There was more of course. Being a man of words there was much more I wanted to say but Holmes waved all further attempts to explain myself aside. It was not necessary he said. As was any suggestion that I leave our home. 

At length Holmes rose to collect his pipe from its resting place above the heath. I watched and waited expectantly as he lit it and proceeded to smoke for some time in silence, but he made no further attempts to converse with me or to acquire any more details about what I had said.

I felt decidedly relieved to have finally unburdened myself, but I was also very unsure as to how I might go about my daily life with Holmes knowing I was not the man he had trusted all the years we had shared rooms. If he was not prepared to accept my offer of a more involved relationship, then it was my wish to continue as we always had, and yet, now I could not help but wonder if that was going to be possible.

Having listened patiently to my disclosure Holmes had in fact given me very little to gauge his actual reaction to it. Other than knowing I was not at any immediate risk of being without lodgings, I had discovered little else. Of course, the fact that I had given Holmes a great deal to think about had not escaped my understanding and while I craved an answer now, I knew it would be best if I retired for the night and left him alone with his thoughts. 

I yawned and the ageing construct of my chair signed in audible relief as I stood slowly. I expected Holmes to turn; to address me, but when he did not I simply announced my intentions in the plainest possible terms. Years of experienced had taught me that it would do no good to press him when he was working on a case or some other problem, and I prepared to take my leave of him as I had a thousand times before. 

I had not quite made it to the door however, before I found myself waylaid. 

“I know you are tired Watson, but if I could possibly persuade you to stay a little longer, I would consider myself deeply in your debt.” 

Holmes’s voice was apologetic and his profile somber. It was a rare combination, one that never failed to reawaken my empathetic nature. Barely suppressing another yawn I stepped forward again. 

“Of course, Holmes, what is it?” 

“I have in mind an experiment of sorts,” he explained, “but it will require your assistance my friend.”

I nodded my agreement, not even bothering to inquire what exactly I was agreeing to – such was, and always has been the level of trust between us. It did occur to me though, that perhaps I had been rather remiss in this when I noted my friend carefully locking the sitting room door and adjusting the grate to the fire.

“Holmes?”

“It is quite all right Watson; I am simply ensuring that we are not disturbed.”

Why he would think we would be interrupted when the hour was well past midnight perplexed me greatly, but I found myself otherwise distracted as he then took up a familiar position in front of the heath. Extending one long arm across the mantel and regarding me in a manner reminiscent of the self-assured Holmes I was used to. 

It might sound like complete folly on my part, and was more accurately the results of our most eventful day, but it appeared that Holmes was in fact posing himself for me and for a moment I indulged myself in thoughts of going to him where he stood and kissing him. Of course I did nothing of the sort, and in the absence of an alternative I simply listened as he proceeded to provide not so much the particulars of his plan, but an explanation for it. 

“As you are aware,” he began slowly. “Prior to your arrival here I have lived a solitary, yet satisfying existence. I have no family other than my brother Mycroft, few acquaintances and no friends other than your good self to speak of. For the most part I have been happy with the choices I have made. I am not an emotional being as you know and I desire little in the way of companionship.” 

This was all information that was well known to me and I nodded at what I perceived to be the appropriate intervals, receiving by way of acknowledgment a small, almost undetectable quirking of his lips before he continued. 

“You see my dear fellow while your presence in my life is useful at times, it is not always conductive to the one I have chosen free of emotional entanglement and responsibility. I must admit that when we first agreed to share rooms I did not realise that I had also agreed to your meddling in my personal habits.” 

I made an attempt to interject at this point, to defend my concerns for his wellbeing as those of a medical professional, but Homes would not have it and stopped me a with look that allowed for no such interruption. 

“Indeed,” he went on. “If I had known I would have to suffer your interference in exchange for a share in the rent I would have declared our agreement null and void the day you moved in.”

I had to smile. I was very accustomed to Holmes’s lengthy discourses into how if he had his time over again, he would choose a less crowded household, or at least a flat mate who was more involved in his own pursuits and less concerned with the daily activities of others. 

I crossed my arms. “And what made you change your mind?” I inquired. 

In all honestly I expected another taunt from Holmes, but instead of further accounts about our less than satisfactory living arrangements, his face grew suddenly serious and his eyes darted away briefly to study the rug at our feet before they were raised once more to meet my own. “You did,” he replied.

It is difficult to describe what happened next, what exactly allowed me to move toward him and lay a tentative hand upon his shoulder.

“Holmes.”

“It is true,” he returned, releasing his hold on the mantel to cover my hand, squeezing it gently. “I have never met anyone like you and as much as I have tried to rid myself entirely of emotional attachment and live solely for my profession, I see now it has all been for naught.” 

I shook my head. “I don’t understand. It was never my intention to interfere with you work, or to take you from it. I have only ever wanted to be of service, Holmes…to love you.” 

As if the mere mention of the words had caused Holmes some indescribable pain his hand closed like a vice around my own, startling me with his strength and the look of defeat upon his face. While our earlier conversation had allowed me to share a great deal and there could be no doubt of my intentions towards him I had not told Holmes that I love him in so many words. Hearing them now though, and seeing the effect they had upon him, I understood why he avoided them so.

“Is it so terrible?” I asked. 

“It is not what I wanted.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I am sorry,” I returned, attempting to pull free of his grasp – to escape and put an end to the grief I knew I was causing him. My efforts to extract myself from Holmes proved utterly fruitless however. 

“You misunderstand me,” he protested, pulling me closer, his breath hot against my already heated face. “It is not you who should be apologising; it is I who should beg your forgiveness.” 

Holmes was right, I did not understand, nor did I possess the energy to try. Regardless of my wish to accept his verdict and continue on as we always had I found his obvious aversion to my declaration of love more than I could bear. I turned my face away.

“I knew,” he said, his voice lowering slightly to accommodate my distress. “Not from the beginning, but after a time I came to realise that your acceptance and affection for me had far deeper ramifications and yet, instead of distancing myself from you as I know I should have, I chose to have you stay. I allowed your care, all the time pretending that I merely tolerated your interference. I am a fraud Watson, and a fool it seems to think I could play at this arrangement of domesticity and not find myself caught in it.”

I did not know what to say, or what possible response to make under the circumstances. I was not accustomed to Holmes admitting his motives, let alone his faults to me. 

“It is not what I wanted,” he continued, “but I will not lose your friendship or respect over what equates to a short coming on my part.”

“You won’t,” I assured him. 

Holmes paled. “You are wrong. You may think that nothing has to change between us, that we can continue as we always have now the truth is no longer a mystery to you. But in time you would regret your decision to stay with me and come to resent the restrictions our friendship imposes upon you.”

It was at this moment that Holmes saw fit to release me and while I understood this was my chance to seek the solitude of my own room if I so desired, I did not move away. Certainly it was not the cold harsh reality of his words, more the pained way in which they were delivered that left me mute and immobile. 

“I have no experience dealing with what you have proposed, John, but I am willing for the sake of all things dear to me, to test my ability to learn.”

\----*----

With Holmes and I safely ensconced in his room and the door secured to keep us both from harm I felt much of my earlier nervousness return. Holmes had spoken briefly of inexperience, which had not surprised me at the time, but now I realised translated to me being our less than qualified guide in this extraordinary endeavour. He stood stock still as I approached him, neither welcoming nor shunning me. His eyes holding mine with the same level of interest a student might show an admired teacher.

I wanted nothing more than to be worthy of my friends faith in me but I fear my hands trembled noticeably as I reached for him. If he was adverse to my fumbling attempts he did nothing to thwart me from drawing him close and wrapping my arms around his too thin frame. In fact I found myself delighted to note him returning my embrace, albeit somewhat awkwardly and his voice as gentle as ever I had heard it when he finally broke the silence between us. 

“Is this what you had in mind, Watson?” 

I could scarcely remember how to breathe let alone recall what it was I wanted from all of this. In the absence of an answer I simply nodded, happy for the moment to enjoy the warmth of his body against my own. 

At length I found that merely standing breast to breast was not all I had desired and I began a slow tentative glide of hands across my dear friends back to the strong curve of his shoulders and the warm skin at his nap. It was difficult to tell standing so close, but I imagined a look of peace upon Holmes’s face as I touched him. Despite the strangeness of this I felt no tensing of muscles or hesitation as I ran my fingers through the short hairs at the base of his neck and gently cupped his head.

My intention was to kiss him. Unlike Holmes I had many years of experience to call upon and with some very slight changes to my stance I pressed my lips first to his cheek to test his reaction and possible acceptance of such a gesture, then noting none to indicate my advances were unwelcome, to his mouth. Holmes sighed as I chastely explored the fine contours of his lips, his body tensing as I gently begged admittance with the tip of my tongue, and then coming alive and responding in the most agreeable manner as I was finally able to delve inside. Despite my many conquests it was not an intimacy I had enjoyed often, most women shied from such intrusive behaviour from a partner, especially if they planned to share no more than a press of lips with a fellow. 

I felt as if I were in a dream and for untold moments I found myself lost and very much at the mercy of a man who claimed no previous first hand knowledge of the base needs of men but seemed to, in the space of a very short time developed an un-canning understanding of them. Insistent did not come close to describing Holmes’s mouth upon my own, or his hands as they sought to touch me in places and ways I had not thought appropriate even in the most intimate settings. 

Needless to say it was not long before I pulled back and was met with the sight of a very different Holmes than the one I was used to. Indeed, the man I knew was one of reason and logic whereas the one I found regarding me at arms length appeared more youth than man and as carnal a creature as I had ever seen. 

“Have I done something wrong?” he exclaimed, clearly confused by my withdrawal. 

Holmes’s voice was breathless, his singular calm obviously shaken. It was almost as if he had uncovered something new and intoxicating and did not know how to deal with it. At any other time I would have found this a most unnerving state of affairs, as it was I felt more drawn to him than I would have ever thought possible.

“No,” I assured him, pulling him forward again and allowing him to judge for himself just how mistaken he was. While not entirely unexpected, Holmes’s forthright behaviour had prompted a reaction I had no intention of keeping to myself. He started some at realisation of what our actions had wrought but I was pleased to note that this was very likely due to his similar condition. 

I kissed him again, reveling in the freedom to do so and the pleasure of finally being able to hold and comfort him. In truth I still had no idea what Holmes and I were doing and yet it seemed very natural as the demands of bodies grew to guide him to the narrow bed in the corner of his room and draw him down beside me. Thankfully, how we might ultimately satisfy one another was not a problem that lasted long as together we made one glorious revelation after another, only parting again when the impending dawn and the threat of discovery forced me to retire to my own room.

\----*----

It was some weeks after Holmes and I finally solved the greatest mystery of our lonely lives and by way of mutual agreement concluded that we should embark upon further studies together that he invited me to attend an auction to dispose of the last of Milverton’s personal belongings. While there, I observed my friend pay particular attention to a bust of Athena, the ancient goddess of wisdom, industry and war. Indeed, in the end my friend paid one hundred pounds for it, only to destroy it just as soon as we had returned home to Baker Street. He would give no explanation for why he had destroyed the bust, or what if anything he had hoped to achieve by doing so to either Mrs. Hudson or myself. In fact it was only later that night, when once again Holmes’s and I were left alone to enjoy the privacy of our sitting room that I was to discover the reason.

“I am not sure I understand, Holmes. Do you mean to tell me that you were willing to risk a hundred pounds on a hunch that Milverton’s had hidden his most damaging information inside of that statue?”

“Yes.”

“But what led you to think that it had any purpose at all?”

“It was elementary really. Milverton’s home was filled with works of art. It stood to reason then that the only item that did not fit into that category would be the one that held the greatest value to its owner.” 

“But you were wrong.”

“Well, as I am sure you have realised my dear Watson, my first impression are not always my best.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The characters depicted below are now public domain but it would be very remiss of me not to point out that Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson were in fact created by the late, and great Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. No disrespect is intended. 
> 
> Not new, just new here. Australian Spelling.  
> Thanks to Ian for betaing.


End file.
